The fire in Mrs Agatha Thistlewick’s sitting room had burned low, leaving a deep red glow beneath the coals. Shadows danced upon the faded wallpaper, whilst the enormous grandfather clock in the corner ticked away with an almost disapproving solemnity.
Upon the mantelpiece stood seven small china cats, each facing towards the centre of the room.
Peter was quite certain that one of them winked at him.
“Stand there, Peter!” commanded Mrs Thistlewick.
Peter obediently took his place beside the hearth.
He presented a rather ridiculous appearance. His blue-striped pyjamas were crumpled, his hair was untidy, and his slippers were nowhere to be seen.
Mrs Thistlewick, meanwhile, was dressed in her old-fashioned nightdress, a thick woollen dressing gown and a pair of well-worn brown carpet slippers.
She settled herself into her high-backed armchair.
“Now then, Peter. What have you to say for yourself?”
“I am terribly sorry, Mrs Thistlewick.”
“Sorry!” exclaimed the old lady. “You were sorry yesterday evening, if I remember correctly. Yet here you are again, prowling about my garden in the middle of the night!”
“But I haven’t the faintest idea how I got here!”
“Fiddlesticks!”
Peter shifted uneasily.
Mrs Thistlewick was not a particularly large woman, but she possessed the sort of commanding personality that could reduce the most confident gentleman to an embarrassed schoolboy.
“In my day,” she continued, “anyone who behaved so foolishly could expect to be treated accordingly!”
Peter looked towards the door.
“Don’t even think about it!” she snapped.
The old lady glanced at the carpet slipper upon her right foot.
“Do you know what is wrong with the world today, Peter Collins?”
“No, madam.”
“Too many people have forgotten the meaning of consequences!”
She removed her slipper and held it up.
“This, Peter, was once considered a perfectly adequate reminder of good manners.”
Peter swallowed.
“Surely you don’t mean—”
“I mean precisely what I say!”
Mrs Thistlewick rose, adjusted her dressing gown and pointed to the space beside her armchair.
“Come along, Peter. We haven’t all night.”
Peter approached with considerable reluctance.
“Across my knee, please.”
He looked at her in disbelief.
“You cannot possibly be serious!”
“I have seldom been more serious in my life.”
Peter sighed, then awkwardly complied. It was a thoroughly undignified arrangement, particularly for someone who considered himself respectable and independent.
Mrs Thistlewick took up her brown carpet slipper.
“Now, Peter, I want you to remember three things: you do not enter somebody’s property without permission, you do not frighten elderly ladies in the middle of the night, and you do not imagine that you can behave foolishly without consequences.”
Peter had imagined that the whole business would be little more than an embarrassing formality. He soon discovered that Mrs Thistlewick intended her punishment to be taken seriously.
The first smack caught him by surprise. It produced a sharp, unpleasant sting through the fabric of his striped pyjamas, and he gave an involuntary start.
“Good heavens, Mrs Thistlewick!” he exclaimed. “That actually hurts!”
“Well, Peter Collins,” replied the old lady, “what exactly did you expect?”
Peter had no satisfactory answer. He found the physical discomfort disagreeable, but the humiliation of being disciplined by the formidable Mrs Thistlewick was considerably worse.
Mrs Thistlewick continued her old-fashioned punishment, accompanied by a succession of stern remarks about his conduct.
“Perhaps you will think twice before entering somebody else’s garden again!”
“But I keep telling you, madam, I don’t know how I got there!”
“And I keep telling you, Peter Collins, that interrupting is exceedingly bad manners!”
When Mrs Thistlewick finally announced that the matter was settled, Peter stood up rather awkwardly. He was uncomfortable, thoroughly embarrassed and more than a little indignant.
“Really, madam,” he protested, straightening his pyjama jacket, “I cannot believe you have just treated me in such a fashion!”
Mrs Thistlewick replaced her slipper.
“Then perhaps, Peter, you will remember this evening for a very long time.”
At that precise moment, Sebastian the black cat opened one green eye.
“Personally,” he remarked, “I think the whole affair could have been avoided if somebody had remembered to lock the garden gate.”
Peter stared at the animal in astonishment.
For the first time that evening, he completely forgot his embarrassment.
“Good heavens!” he whispered. “That cat can talk!”
Mrs Thistlewick folded her arms.
“Of course he can talk. And unlike certain gentlemen, he generally knows when to keep quiet.”
Sebastian looked rather pleased with himself.
“Now,” continued Mrs Thistlewick, “sit down and tell me exactly what happened in my garden.”
Peter took the chair opposite her.
For several minutes, the old lady delivered a further lecture concerning trespassing, frightening elderly people and wandering around unfamiliar gardens in the middle of the night.
At last, Peter could contain himself no longer.
“But Mrs Thistlewick, I tell you I was asleep!”
The old lady stopped.
“Whatever do you mean?”
“I mean that I went to bed in my own house, fell asleep, and the next thing I knew, I was standing amongst your flowerbeds!”
Mrs Thistlewick stared at him.
For the first time that evening, her expression changed.
“Good gracious,” she whispered.
She leaned forward.
“Peter Collins, tell me exactly what you saw in my garden.”
